Once Was Enough
by deangirl1
Summary: Tag to 7.19. Missing scene just after the end. Don't want to give away any spoilers...


**Disclaimer:** This is a transformative work of fiction based on the original creation of E. Kripke. Done for fun not profit. Thank you, kind sir, for the loan of your pretty toys...

**A/N:** Tag to 7.19, so spoilers! And wow. It's been a while since I wrote anything a bit longer...

* * *

"Jesus, Sam! Enough! I'm tired of talking about it, alright?" Dean slammed the bottle down on the table hard enough for some of the liquid to jump out.

Sam rolled his eyes, his mouth turned down, lips pressed together.

They'd driven for most of the night before, slept a couple hours, and then continued the next day. There had been no more sign of Bobby, but Sam had flipped the EMF meter on a couple of times – with the sound discreetly off – and it had red-lined every time. Dean had been silent most of the day. His eyes had the tight look that usually denoted pain. Pain either physical or emotional, and Sam had no doubt as to which it was now. He was baffled by his brother's response to Bobby's return. It wasn't that Sam didn't see anything to worry about, but it was a gift to have a loved one back like this. Sam was sure the three of them together could find a way to make this work or a way to make it right at any rate. But Dean... Dean was angry. And hurt. And those feelings ran more deeply than Sam could account for. Dean had _wanted_ to believe it was Bobby so badly, so his attitude now was completely baffling to Sam. All day, he mulled over Dean's words – just because you want it doesn't make it right. Sam knew deep down that Dean's knee jerk reaction to anything he actually wanted was that he couldn't have it... that he didn't deserve it.

Sam wasn't stupid. He'd seen Dean flinch when Bobby had said he _needed_ to help. Bobby had never been privy to all the times John had found Dean wanting. Hell, even Sam hadn't been clued into it until after the fact. It had taken a lot of time and distance for Sam to realize that both he and Dean had misunderstood a lot of what John had said to them. Dean had always thought John's comments were digs at Dean not doing a good enough job, but a lot of the time, Sam had come to realize, John said things about his own shortcomings, not his boys'. Sam was a little surprised that Bobby hadn't been a bit more tuned in to Dean's reaction. He wondered if it had anything to do with being a ghost.

Dean had left Bobby's flask in the trunk, opting to lace his "coffee" with the bottle of rotgut that was never far from him these days. The flask was sitting on the table now, though. Sam kept an eye on his brother, but the drinking never seemed to affect his driving. Then, he didn't really start drinking until they'd stopped for the night.

"And it's creepy," Dean added.

"Huh?"

"Well. You know he's listening," Dean lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "I mean... it's not like he can go anywhere..." Dean's eyes darted about the room.

"Oh. Right. I... I hadn't thought of that," Sam looked uncomfortable. "I guess it would be more polite to wait for him to join the conversation... But we really need to talk about..."

Whatever Sam was about to say was cut off as Dean growled and grabbed the bottle, slamming out of the hotel room. The force of the door had Bobby's flask rocking on the table.

Sam echoed the growl, adding an eye roll, waiting for the sound of their current shit-box chugging to life. But the sound didn't come. Sam peeked out the window. Dean was sitting in front of said shit-box on the curb, drinking straight out of the bottle.

"Classy," Sam murmured, but he was at least grateful Dean hadn't taken off. He was in no fit state to drive by now, and these days that was saying something.

Dean took another deep swallow from the bottle. It rarely helped anymore. He started when Bobby suddenly appeared.

"Since when did you upgrade to tequila from rotgut?"

"I recently discovered it was more effective," Dean swung the bottle at the ghost of his surrogate father, toasting him, before taking another swig.

"How is it you can be out here anyway? I specifically left your flask in the room with Sam."

"Seems I'm getting stronger," Bobby shrugged.

They maintained an uneasy silence.

"I've been seeing you for a while, you know. Hearing you too," Dean said quietly, staring at the cement between his feet.

"What?" Bobby's eyebrows almost disappeared beneath the brim of his ratty baseball cap.

"I saw you in that motel. After you shoved the sword at me. And I kept hearing you... but I thought it was all in my head... wishful thinking... maybe a product of my self-medicating... dunno..."

"Why didn't you try talking to me, ya idjit?"

"Sam already thought I was nuts..." Dean trailed off, looking up at his mentor sheepishly. "Hell. _I_ thought I was going nuts."

"It's not like ghosts were news to you..."

"I thought you were gone, Bobby." Dean's face twisted. "We burnt your bones. Hunter's funeral... I was so careful..."

Bobby half reached out to grip his shoulder but stopped. He knew he _could_ touch him now, but it still wouldn't be the warm grasp that it used to be.

Dean drank deeply from the bottle again.

"Son, don't you think maybe you've had enough for tonight? Even for you?" Bobby said gently.

Dean laughed, but swayed unsteadily.

"Disappointed? Guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm just all kinds of disappointing, aren't I?"

Bobby was a bit taken aback at Dean's unusual candor. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the fact that he was a ghost now, or maybe, and this scared Bobby the most, maybe Dean had finally reached his breaking point.

"Couldn't even manage to get a simple salt 'n burn right, huh Bobby?" Dean's voice was laced with bitterness.

"Nope. Managed to hold onto you and fuck up your getting into heaven too. Seems nobody around me is safe. Hell. Even your death is my fault. And I guess if I'd been able to close the deal with Roman, you might not have had all that unfinished business... but me? Nope. I ain't got Dick..." self-loathing tapered off to laughter.

Bobby just stared. Was that really what he thought? That he'd let him down? Bobby ached for Dean as he'd ached for him so often in the past.

"What the hell, Dean! You living off the self-pity platter special these days?"

Dean stopped laughing but just scowled at Bobby.

"Who died and made you boss of me anyway?" Bobby growled.

"Actually _you_ did, old man..."

"Watch your mouth, boy! I can still whup your ass – Probably better now that I've figured out this ghost mojo!" It was Bobby's turn to glower. If it took a swift kick in the arse to get the boy to see reason, so be it.

"First off, how do you figure my death is on you?"

"You never should have been up on that roof... I shoulda been there, and I woulda been if I hadn't gotten stoned on that stupid turducken..."

"Well, if you hadn't gotten stoned on that shit, we likely would have taken a lot longer to figure out what the hell was going on, and you couldn't have been up on the roof with Frank's equipment because you didn't know how to use it, ya idjit."

Dean just took another drink and shrugged. Bobby sighed. The boy was so far down the rabbit hole he had no idea how he was going to drag him up this time.

"And for your information, it was my decision to dodge that damn reaper. Those numbers weren't the only thing I saw in that file."

"What?" That did get Dean's attention – bleary as it was becoming.

"I can't quite make out the details – brain injury, remember – but I know it'll come back to me... and at least we know there's more even if not the specifics..."

Dean humpfed. Bobby was dismayed that the boy was still curled into himself. Something was still a burr under his saddle.

"Guess you were right to figure I wouldn't be able to get the job done... that you needed to stick around... make sure it got done right," Dean mumbled.

"How many different ways can I call ya an idjit?" Bobby rolled his eyes. "I needed to come back to finish it for myself. I'm a bit pissed at the guy who took me out, and last I checked, we didn't really have a good way to go after him. God knows, you have no sense of self-preservation. And that brother of yours ain't much better. Somebody has to be around to watch your sixes."

Dean shrugged. Bobby grit his teeth. The boy never would believe anyone would want to sacrifice for him. Would never believe that he wasn't being found wanting in every situation. But there was something else going on here.

"What else is bugging you, Dean," Bobby prompted with uncharacteristic softness.

"It's just... I wanted you to have that."

"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific."

"Heaven. Peace. A nice condo somewhere... I keep getting people killed and none of them seem to get the peace they deserve..."

"Again. My choice. And we don't know that that has to be off the table forever."

"You don't believe that anymore than I do Bobby. Don't shit a shitter."

Bobby just shrugged.

"And..." Dean's eyes were glued to the ground again.

"What?" Bobby gently pushed.

"I don't think I can do this again," Dean's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Do what?" Bobby's own voice was barely a whisper. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Lose you again... I was just starting to get used to you not being here. To you just being a memory... It's been so hard... Sammy... poor Sammy's got no one else but me... and me? I'm just a mess... Look how useless I was with Cas... with you...Couldn't save any of you..."

"Aw Dean," Bobby sighed and watched as his surrogate son slowly gave in to gravity, exhaustion, and alcohol. The bottle, now empty, fell from lax fingers. Heavy eyes closed, and Dean slumped limply against the car. "What am I gonna do with you? When will you ever see what the rest of us see?"

Bobby shook his head and made his way back into the motel room to get Sam to come and fetch his brother.


End file.
